


Cold Comfort

by missduncan



Category: Waking the Dead (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 07:20:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29432319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missduncan/pseuds/missduncan
Summary: To Grace’s annoyance, Boyd has a plan she can’t fathom
Relationships: Peter Boyd/Grace Foley
Kudos: 4





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Valentine's Day 2021
> 
> Huge thanks to Joodiff for the Beta, her help and encouragement

**Cold Comfort.**

Closing her eyes tightly, silently wishing herself anywhere but where she is, Grace Foley takes some deep steadying breaths. Her heart is hammering in her chest, a knot in her stomach gets tighter all the time and even – inside this warm and damp room – she has to suppress a shiver. It's crazy, she knows but she really can't help it. Opening her eyes again, she scowls at the door in front of her. Sadly, though, nothing has changed. She's still in front of the damn door she doesn't have the slightest desire to pass. The door that inevitably leads only one way – into the dark and utterly cold.

Only, that's what Boyd expects of her. He's waiting for her... Outside.

Bloody hell, she ponders, nervously pushing a lock of hair behind her right ear. She doesn't understand what he's doing. Why does he want to expose her to something like this? To go swimming outdoors in frosty weather? The mere thought freezes her blood to ice, so to speak. Unconsciously, she crosses her arms over her chest and rubs her hands up and down her bare arms with a tiny hope that the friction will provide a tiny bit of heat in her body. But in vain. It doesn't help.

Common-sense tells her to trust him. And she does. Of course, she does. He only has the best of intentions, the sweet man. He would never harm her – not on purpose at least – and this is definitely something he's been planning. Plotted and nurtured very carefully for a long time, she reflects. A very long time.

It all goes back to Boxing Day, she realises, casting her mind back to the day where it all started...  
  
.  
  
"Seems like Santa forgot to give you something yesterday," Boyd smirks and throws a gift-wrapped packet into her lap.

They're seated on each corner of her couch. After a few busy days filled with family gatherings, they are finally enjoying a quiet day. Alone in peace and quiet. Just the two of them. A lazy morning sleeping in. Skipping breakfast, they stayed in bed occupied with far more pleasurable things for most of the morning, before finally, after a hasty brunch, they went for a long walk.

The weather was cold, and now, curled up under a woollen blanket, she's nursing a steaming mug between her hands, trying to regain some warmth in her body.

"What is this?" There's a glow of excitement and expectations in his gaze, she notices as she looks from him to the present before her and back again. He certainly is up to something... mischief of the worst kind.

"Oh, a little something you might appreciate one day..."

The rather cryptic reply puzzles her. It irks her not knowing what it's all about. What his intentions are. For a moment, their eyes connect but the only thing he reveals is a bloody annoying impish glint of exuberance. He's _really_ enjoying this situation. Way too much in her opinion. He's a man up to no good...

Slowly, placing her mug on the little table beside the couch, Grace reaches out a hand, gently touching the gift. Probing carefully, she examines the consistency with her fingers. Feels the form and weight. It's light. It's squishy and... hm... a scarf? A lacy nightgown... fancy underwear maybe? She contemplates. It wouldn't be the first time he's bought her something like it but it doesn't explain today's peculiar behaviour. His conspicuous joy. Certainly, there's more behind it, but what?

Idly twisting the package between her hands, she studies it once more before placing it on her lap again and – trying to stall the time – begins ever-so slowly, ever-so neatly to unknot the ribbon. The annoyed croak sounding from the other end of the sofa is distinct. Quirking an eyebrow, sulking, he mumbles, "It's not toxic, you know?"

"My God, you're busting! So very impatient, aren't you? What are you up to?"

Grunting, Boyd falls back into his corner, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just open it, woman, will you..."

As she removes the paper some kind of fabric, folded and stored in a small plastic bag is revealed. "What's this?" Clearly some kind of clothing... but what? Turning the bag, she reads: _Base Ware Layers for Women_.

Base wear layers for God's sake! Baffled, she opens the plastic bag, taking out the contents, displaying it. It's thin and it's delicate, though. It's beautifully patterned, bright coloured too, and probably lovely and warm. Truth be told, she's always cold. Always freezing no matter how huge her woollen cardigans are. But no matter how cold she might be, long underpants are not something she would wear. Never been items to be found in her wardrobe.

Bloody hell, how awkward is this, she muses, slowly sliding a hand over the fabric, frantically seeking for the right words. "I don't know what to say, Boyd... It's beautiful... It's soft and warm, but it's not only outdoor-clothing – it's sportswear. Sportswear for God's sake! I'm not an outdoor-girl..."

Completely unfazed, Boyd watches her with a very smug grin. "And that's a problem, because?"

When she doesn't reply, he shrugs. "I simply thought we could try something new. Give it a... "

"Let's get one thing clear, Boyd." Sternly she interrupts his sentence, pointing a finger directly at him. "I don't _do_ snow. Not in _any_ kind of context except sitting indoors, warm and comfy gazing out at a picturesque winter landscape with a nice book in my lap and preferably with a large pot of tea or a nice glass of wine beside me. I don't ski. I don't sledge. And I don't skate!"

"Do I look like a ski bum, eh?" he grunts.

"Honestly?" Arching an eyebrow, she retorts. "I can imagine you... enjoying the rush, whizzing away downhill at high speed. Definitely, yes."

"Oh, come on, Grace. I'm not that bad, am I?" Tilting his head, he gives her his best puppy-look before continuing more seriously, "There are other things we can do in a snowy environment. You don't know if you haven't tried, eh?" Catching her eye, he holds her gaze for a long moment. "I would never expose you... to anything... you wouldn't like. Sometimes, though, trying new things is good." He rises a placating hand to stop her from interrupting. "And before you get started, I know you're not the sporty type – you do enjoy an adventure now and then, though. Pretty sights and stuff... Pleasurable moments, right." Leaning towards her, he reaches for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Trust me, Grace. Just trust me in this, please."

"Hmm." Pulling her hand back, she once again turns her interest back to the fabric, gripping one part of it, holding the long-sleeved undershirt up in front of her, shakings her head in wonder. "This is not your style, Boyd. Absolutely not your style." Gazing challengingly at him, she continues, "Want me to wear this tonight instead of the little purple lace-thing you gave me for my birthday, eh?"

"Bollocks! Of course not," he scoffs, "in bed, _I_ keep you warm, don't I?"

Sighing deeply, Grace lets her arms sink down her lap, asking slightly irritably, "Why don't you simply tell me what you want me to do with them?"

Apparently very pleased with himself, Boyd leans back towards the couch again, smirking. "Because that's for me to know and you to find out."

"Boyd!"

"Grace..." he mocks and trails his fingers through his hair before sobering and raising a calming hand between them. He smiles mildly in an attempt to placate her. "I know you're not the sporty type who doesn't like cold weather but you wouldn't mind sitting in a warm car looking at pretty landscapes, though, would you?"

"What do you mean?" Certainly, there must be an agenda behind all this, she ponders.

"For fuck's sake, Grace, save it for the day you'll need something to keep you warm, but please, trust me. I promise you won't regret it."

"And how long exactly am I to wait before you find it opportune to reveal your plans?" she demands, unhappy with his response.

"All in good time, my dear. All in good time, but I've got to ask you to be patient. Very patient."

And he certainly made her wait...

.

"Is anything alright, Grace?" Eve Lockhart quietly inquires, studying her with an intense probing glance, looking worried. The two doctors are seated at a minor coffee shop close to the station having a quiet lunch together.

In early February, Grace's curiosity still hasn't been satisfied – rather the opposite. No answers or explanations have been provided and her patience and tranquillity have been tested to their limits. Too much secrecy has been going on for far too long for her liking. That and the uncertainty about what Boyd is plotting to expose her to is really getting on her nerves, making her tense and irritable.

And yet she tries to push it aside, tries to deny it. "Nothing," she replies with a smile, shrugging slightly, "nothing at all."

"Come on, you can fool Spence, probably Boyd, too, and maybe even Stella, but you don't fool me." The retort is prompt. "You've been picking at your salad instead of eating it for most of the time we've been sitting here. Something's bothering you. The way you snapped at Stella this morning isn't like you. You've been very short-tempered and edgy lately. You and Boyd aren't exactly seeing eye-to-eye at the moment. You're not squabbling, though, but every day he smirks more and more and you get more and more gloomy. That's not normal... and don't you pretend it is."

"Hmm." Lost for words, Grace stares down into her tea mug. How to react to a direct ambush like this...? Her behaviour _is_ childish. Unprofessional; her problems shouldn't have any negative effects on their co-workers.

She folds her fingers around the mug, taking comfort in the warmth seeping through the ceramic into her hands, then admits with a small sigh. "It's been going on for far too long... He's up to something and I don't understand what... I really don't, and it worries me."

"Tell me about it. Get it off your chest... you need to debrief or whatever you psychologists call it." Checking her watch, Eve adds persuasively, "We don't need to be back at the office yet."

Trying to gather her thoughts, she slowly trails her index finger along the edge of her mug. "For the last month," she begins, "since Boxing Day, Boyd has been providing me with all kind of equipment for what I only can regard as an arctic tour. Everything from a ski jacket and trousers, thermal boots, socks – you name it. Even base wear layer! Can you believe it?" Shaking her head. "I have never seen anything like it. All of it camouflaged as Christmas presents Santa forgot to deliver. Boyd's enjoying his little game so much. He's like a child teasing me. The more vexed I am, the merrier he gets. It's so frustrating. Now, I'm fully equipped to go anywhere cold." She takes a deep sip of her tea before places the mug down the table. "I hate the cold. He knows it but he goes on and on, and I don't know what to do."

"What are you worried about," Eve gently probes, "Boyd only wants the best for you – maybe you don't always agree at work but this is private, Grace, I can't see any reason for you to suspect anything less than something absolutely fantastic from him. He only wants to make you happy."

"But all this damned equipment? What does he expect of me?" Frantically she gestures between them, accentuating her words, before she finally plants her elbows on the table and buries her face in her hands, mumbling, "And why doesn't he tell me his plans?"

"Why don't you just trust him, Grace? I'm sure you don't have anything to fear from Boyd. Anything at all." The deep voice is soft and soothing, calming. "Let the man have a little fun with you. All he's doing is making preparations for something lovely. I don't think you'll have much longer to wait, though..."

Straightening up hurriedly, Grace scrutinizes her younger colleague with a suspicious glare, a sharp glint of steel suddenly in her eyes. "You know something?" There's an edge to her voice.

Protectively, Eve rises her hands between them then, her answer elusive. "Hmm, you certainly put me between a rock and a hard place, Grace." Sighing deeply, she lets her hand sink.

Frowning, Grace slowly sums up. "Everything in the right size..." her penetrating stare doesn't leave room for excuses or possible escape. Her frosty glare remains unwavering.

Muttering uncomfortably under the piercing cold eyes, Eve shifts on her seat, muttering, "I promised... "

"And?" she sternly replies without wavering. "Believe me, a negative answer is _not_ admissible."

"Alright, alright," shrugging in submission. Nobody can deny Grace when she's in that sort of mood. "Boyd asked for my advice to be sure you had whatever you need to make you comfortable and safe for his little surprise. Trust me, Grace," the younger woman reaches for her hand, squeezes it lightly. "Trust me and trust him. You've only got to wait a couple of weeks more – that should give you a hint what it's all about – and believe me, you _will_ love it." Eve's smile is bright and reassuring. "He's really surpassed himself."

Her gaze softens. Looking through the window her eyes follow a strutting pigeon, walking around on the pavement. "What you're saying," pausing, swallowing a sip of her tea, "is I'm basically behaving like a spoiled child?" Embarrassed, Grace avoids eye contact.

"I wouldn't phrase it quite like that... but essentially," rolling her eyes, Eve makes an apologetic gesture, before adding with a nod. "Yes, a little maybe... "

"I'm such a fool," the confession comes easily now. "I hate not being in control; not knowing what those around me are up to... "

A persistent buzzing interrupts her, and she delves down her bag, answering her phone bluntly with a distracted "Yes!" followed by a just as short "Okay."

"Saved by the bell – we're wanted back asap." Hurriedly she gathers her things. Slipping into her coat, arranging her scarf around her neck, she casually nudges. "Can't you tell me what it's all about? I'm no fan of surprises."

"I'm sorry, Grace, I gave him my word."

"Hmm, can't say I'm happy with that," Grace resignedly admits on their way out of the door, "but I guess, I'll have to live with it."

.

An icy draught sweeping around her body makes her quake again and draws her back to the present as a couple of lively chatting women walk past her and head out through the door.

Eventually, time _did_ pass even though the waiting was hard. She endured it, however, and with more dignity and calm than before. The few facts and hints she elicited from Eve did actually help. She accepted Eve's silence; to do otherwise, would have been unfair. The younger woman is a loyal friend, and also a person with high principles. A promise is a promise and bound to be kept.

A week ago, Grace was told to prepare for a short holiday; to pack a suitcase with warm and comfy clothing for a four-days holiday somewhere cold, and yesterday, Boyd picked her up and drove them to the airport.

Just like Eve promised her, he didn't take her to some posh or fancy ski resort or anything like it, but to Iceland. A place she had always wished to go visit but had never really bothered to book because outdoor living and coldness have never held any appeal.

But now she's finally here and it's just as wonderful as she always pictured. Even though it's cold – very cold – Boyd was right. She loves it.

All day they have been driving around from one exciting sight to the next. Their rented car is comfortable and warm, and outside she's suitably protected against the cold and the wind by all her new outfits.

It's been wonderful driving around together, looking at the fascinating landscapes that are so different from Britain. Everything is white or grey or black but most of all, there are no tall trees anywhere; the few they see are windswept, bend into strange low forms. They've seen striking waterfalls, and most stunningly in her opinion, the geothermal area where the earth literally boils and splashes around them with absolutely no regards to the frosty weather. The sight of the geyser erupting is stunning. She could have stayed there, watching it for hours but eventually Boyd hurried her, and they ended up here at some spa-resort beside a lake where he left her at the door to the changing room for women, handing her a bag with her swimsuit and a towel before disappearing behind the door to the gents.

By now he's probably very impatient and she's angry with herself for being a coward. She really must pull herself together. Can't let him wait much longer. _Remember, Grace_ , she whispers under her breath, trying to steel herself, _so far it's been heavenly. Boyd would never ruin the day. It's going to be just great._

After a few deep steadying inhalations, she bites down her lip and resolutely pushes the door open, stepping outside. The tiles are cold under her bare feet but surprisingly it doesn't feel as bad as she expected. The air bites into her lungs, cold, but so fresh and clean that she forgets her discomfort almost immediately.

It takes a moment before her eyes adjust to the dark. There are a handful of small lanterns scattered around the pools, their light reflecting on the surfaces and illuminating the water a little. Covered above the shoulders by the water, people are seated and the air buzzes with low conversation. The whole scene is beautiful and very romantic.

Almost immediately she catches sight of Boyd in the pool furthest away as he rises from the water, waving at her.

Careful not to slip on the wet tiles, she slowly walks towards him, turns around and, with a firm grip on the handles, she starts climbing down the ladder.

The first contact with the water is shockingly hot, almost boiling to her cold skin. Even though it doesn't seem to bother anybody else, it makes her hesitate and instantly, a steadying hand is touching her calf, and Boyd's voice sounds reassuringly from behind. "Just take it easy. Slow and easy."

Stretching up, he rests his palm softly on her hip, guiding her down, whispering close to her ear. "You came... I was just starting to think you'd stood me up..."

"And why would I do that?" The teasingly retort is easy. Angling her head, looking up, Grace locks her eyes with his as he gently drags her down into the water.

"Why? Hmm, you winding yourself up and not daring to go outside? I certainly can see that happening," he immediately returns with a snort. "Come..."

They end up in a corner with some kind of built-in seating, sitting intimately together. Closing her eyes, she enjoys the feeling of the warmth seeping into her body, easing tense muscles she didn't even know she had, seeping through her flesh and deep into her bones. It's so warm, so soothing. It's relaxing and just so blissful.

Contentedly, Grace lets her head slide down to rest on his shoulder, a sigh of happiness escaping her. Promptly she feels him incline his own head and his lips place a kiss on her temple, as he mumbles, "Okay?"

Opening her eyes again, lightly angling her head towards his, she laughs. "More than okay, Boyd. It's absolutely magnificent."

"And the snow? The cold weather?"

Laughing, she pushes herself up a little, turns to face him fully and reaches up, cupping his face. "You sweet, silly man. You've been planning this ever since last year, haven't you?"

"Hmm, I have... last year was rubbish, wasn't it?" Snorting, he continues. "A take-away dinner on your couch, you, all snotty and poorly. To pass the time, we chatted about places we dreamed of travelling to but probably never would. Your dreamworlds were Shangri La or Iceland – the latter, I decided, was the easiest to get to and I made a promise to myself to make it up to you this year instead. I really hope it lives up to your expectations?"

"Do you really have to ask? Peter Boyd, you are incredible." She laughs happily and sinks back towards the wall of the pool so deep her chin touches the water. "Here I am, lying in a pool, almost up to my ears in hot water, gazing at an amazing dark sky full of millions and millions of stars together with the man I love. How much more romantic could it be...? No woman could wish for more..." Easing her feet from the bottom, she almost floats in the water to better see the stars.

"Perhaps a little less smell of sulphur?" he dryly suggests, extending an arm, catching and encircling her body with his arms, dragging her back.

Securely seated again beside him, Grace smirks softly. "Maybe just that, and perhaps a little dinner at some point. It's been a long day and I'm actually starting to feel a bit hungry. But this," she pauses, gets to her feet to stand to face him fully. "This is simply the most lovely thing anybody has ever done for me... " She lifts her arms, cupping his face, her thumb lightly stroking his cheek, as she gazes into his eyes before adding with complete serenity, "Peter Boyd, I love you so, so very much."

"Good, I was counting on exactly that when I booked a table for dinner." He flashes her one of his boyish smiles, then covers her hand with his palm squeezing it gently then moves her hand to his lips, kissing it tenderly.


End file.
